Homeowners sift for memories at Union Beach's ground zero

Their rallying cry: 'Angels gather here'

Nov. 26, 2012

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Anna Yurgelonis, a resident of Brook Avenue in Union Beach, offers comfort to her grandchild, Jaelyn, 7, who lived in the home with her, while trying to pick up the pieces of her life after her home was destroyed during superstorm Sandy. / Mary Frank/Staff Photographer

UNION BEACH — Anna Yurgelonis did her best to comfort granddaughter Jaelyn, but no words could adequately explain the scene to a 7-year-old, or anyone for that matter.

Every pile of rubble along the coastline has a story.

Then you come across 708 Brook Ave., the worst site on a road that absorbed more of superstorm Sandy’s wrath than any other, and you’re left pondering everything from fate to faith.

The roof, now a mass of plywood and shingles, provided stability and comfort to so many in need.

A battered, nearly flattened figurine of a first responder was symbolic of lives spent putting others before self.

On the top of a deck railing, now positioned in a neighbor’s backyard, 12 boot-shaped planters, one for each grandchild, were miraculously intact, giving hope for the future.

“There were so many memories for so many people in the 19 years we lived there. Now it’s all gone,” said Yurgelonis, the former nurse and EMS worker who raised 11 kids, eight of whom were adopted, while welcoming countless foster children into the home.

“I almost passed out when they finally let us in and I saw it. They had to call the ambulance.”

Given the magnitude of the destruction and the ripple effect through the community, this truly was ground zero.

Lisa Cordova was one of several who eluded road blocks to reach the property in the days following Oct. 29.

The structure was demolished. The emotions were overwhelming.

And then, the 34-year-old eldest daughter who now lives with her family in Middletown, saw a circular stone from the garden that read “angels gather here.”

Her brother, Michael Beveridge, got a marker from his truck and she inscribed the saying that became a rallying cry for the entire town on a piece of white fence.

Then her husband, Alex, found one of her mother’s guitars, a Dean with a “Jersey Girl” sticker on the back, and slowly began to play Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song.”

“When I left that day I felt different, like my body chemistry changed being on that property,” she recalled.

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“I was shaking, feeling like I was in a fog. I wanted to search for things but couldn’t. My mind and body were not functioning together.”

The angels gathered on Saturday, some 70 friends, family members and total strangers, clearing debris for whatever comes next.

By all accounts it was a lovely home, with five bedrooms, wood floors and a kitchen with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances, having been completely redone after a fire four years ago.

But the beams and drywall were merely a veneer that facilitated the lessons learned about the power of love, the strength of a family and the impact they can have on a young life.

When Cordova was 13, she and her younger brother and sister were preparing for the arrival of a foster child, with Anna and Charlie Yurgelonis, now a retired Port Authority cop at the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel who lived through 9/11, having gone through all the training.

What they got were five siblings.

“There was no way I was going to break that family up,” Anna Yurgelonis said.

They eventually adopted all five, and later three more, while continually fostering children in desperate need of a place to live.

“We’ve always introduced them as our siblings, never anything other than our brothers and sisters,” Cordova said. “We grew up knowing that if we had a roof over our head, even if you’re sleeping on the floor, let alone a couch or whatever bed might have been open, we had room for somebody. That’s what we did. We just welcomed people. And then when they left it was very sad, but we grew up knowing if their families got it together enough to take them that was a good thing. That was the entire point.

“That door was never locked. It was always open. Nobody knocked, you just walked in and said ‘Hi.’ ”

Now the place is gone, FEMA has provided enough money for the security deposit and two months’ rent at a house in Matawan, and everyone’s left wondering why Sandy chose this particular lot to flex her muscles.

“All of us have been having nightmares. It’s a horrible thing,” added Cordova. “Even if they stay there, it’s not going to be the same stairs we tripped up, the same stairs we slid down, the same yard we played in or the same kitchen.”

What won’t change, whether it’s at 708 Brook Ave. or not, is the nurturing nature of the Yurgelonises and the gratitude of those whose lives they’ve touched.